Long Forgotten
by Janayea
Summary: John forgets Sherlock ever existed after moving on.


John had finally moved on. He knew accepting the death of his best friend was.. hard - almost disrespectful, but he had decided that anxiety over a .. ghost was no longer needed. He had not moved out of 221b - he did not have the heart to - but all of Sherlock's belongings - the things that made him Sherlock - were packed away. Even his chair was stored away.

John had made the decision to stop visiting his grave as well. There was no use in talking to a corpse, he had thought to himself. It had been hard moving on, of course, but it had been done. Lestrade still called him on occasion, hoping he would help with a case. John always refused.

He had met a few girls, yes, but most of which it had ended after John had a daydream of Sherlock dying in front of his eyes; screaming out in terror. Most thought he was insane.

He walked around the city everyday, leaning heavily on his cane. His limp had returned; though not fully, but it was noticeable.  
John focused on his life, and he loved it.  
He was getting close to forgetting all about Sherlock - but those nightmares he had, the screaming in his sleep always jolted his memory.

John used to think it was a sign. A sign that said, "No, he's alive, do not forget!"

But he did. He did forget.

* * *

When John stepped into 221b after his daily walk, he greeted Mrs. Hudson, who looked much happier than usual.  
"Afternoon, Mrs. Hudson." he said joyfully, a smile on his lips and his eyes bright. Mrs. Hudson didn't say a word and waved him away, beginning to make tea. But John noticed something peculiar - three cups instead of two. He shrugged and walked up the stairs.

The flat was completely changed. There was a laptop on the desk - open and on Sherlock's webpage. A violin sat next to it, as well as a pistol. The wallpapers that John had changed since Sherlock's death was changed - changed to what they had been before, yellow smiley face and all.

The most shocking thing was the chair. It was there, yes. It was also empty. Instead, sitting in JOHN'S chair was a curly haired, blue eyed man. He had a scarf around his hands, he was playing with it. When John stepped into the flat the man did not look up. A smile played on his lips.

Sherlock had expected John to scream; something. The question he got took him completely aback.

"Umm.. who are you, and what are you doing in my flat?" John looked around. "And what did you do to my place?"  
His eyes found Sherlock again, and those blue eyes were stretched wide with hurt.  
"J-John.. you remember me, don't you?"  
John's forehead creased.  
"Uhh, no, I don't think I do."

Sherlock stood then; very suddenly; John took a step back.  
"How could you have forgotten me?"  
he shook his head and grabbed a hat - the hat with "two fronts", and tossed it at John, who caught it, a confused look on his face.  
"Look..I honestly don't know you at all.. um.. what's your name?"

Sherlock shook his head. "The name's Sherlock Holmes. The address 221b Baker Street also belongs to me."  
At this, John chuckled a bit. "Belongs to you? This flat has been mine, and mine only for years."  
"Well then clearly you thought wrong."

John's forehead creased once more, and he sat in Sherlock's chair. He seemed to be in deep thought.  
And then, his eyes lit up with very slight recognition, and hope burned in Sherlock's chest.  
"Sherlock...Holmes?"  
At a nod from Sherlock, John continued.  
"You died years ago. You can't be Sherlock."

He buried his face in his hands and tried thinking harder. "Sherlock..where have I heard that name before..."  
Sherlock finally leapt up, grabbed the laptop, and opened John's blog, which John had not looked or updated since the fall.  
John's eyes swept down the page - at the very top was the most recent.

_Sherlock is dead. And now, so am I._

And realization hit him like a truck. He was suddenly out of breath - his mind reeled.

"Sherlock."

he nodded.

"You're alive."

he nodded once more.

"You're a jackass."

at this, he beamed and embraced John, who embraced him back.  
Sherlock grabbed his violin and bow, and was about to play, when John asked, "So how DID you do it? Fake your death?"  
Sherlock smiled to himself and began to play.


End file.
